


Not Quite Canon

by Feynite, SeleneLavellan



Series: Dirthalene [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Companion AU, Everything is wonderful until everything hurts, F/M, In which Solas is held responsible for his mistakes on occassion, In which i take the canon and use it for scraps, Lavellan as a companion AU, Memory Alteration, Reincarnation, reincarnated lovers, the sentinels should have been able to join the inquisition and we were robbed tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 10:02:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 13,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16870924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feynite/pseuds/Feynite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneLavellan/pseuds/SeleneLavellan
Summary: "I thought the whispering was just because of those creepy body parts and the Priest, but we’ve defeated him and they’re still…I don’t know, but I can definitely hear something.”“Tell me this is the part where we ignore it and go home anyways,” Varric sighs“What kind of story would that be, Varric?” Selene teases.“The kind where the hero lives to tell their own tale.”





	1. Chapter 1

She is sobbing.

There is no reason for her to do so, and Selene mentally berates herself for breaking down like this while they are out and busy. They arrived in the Lost Temple of Dirthamen almost an hour ago now, and while she had felt uneasy since entering, she had been managing it well, up until now. Solas stops in his translation of the codex writing and exchanges a look with Inquisitor Lavellan who shrugs helplessly while Varric pats Selene’s shoulder.

“You okay there, Moonbeam?” he asks.

 

She nods, wiping at her face with her sleeve, “Yes. Yes, I’m fine, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

 

“You may be experiencing a reaction to the magical energies that still reside here. I am impressed they are potent enough to do so, with what little fragments remain,” Solas remarks.

 

“Yeah, maybe…” Selene grumbles, rubbing at her head as it starts to throb; it feels as though someone is whispering to her, but it’s not Des’s usual prodding. It feels…older. Much older.

 

–

It is much more difficult to move through the dreaming, since the Wolf put up his Veil. Fear and Deceit have been spending most of their time in the fade, looking for a weakened point and creating new paths in an effort to make one The Great Aspect would be able to travel in his weakened state.

 

He does not move much, these days. The loss of their Daughter and Heart in the war took a heavy toll on them all.

 

But someone is moving through the temple, now. The puzzles are being solved and old runes re-activated. Not some fumbling dull-eared shadow, but someone with purpose.

Someone who  _knows_ it _._

 

Deceit makes the decision to expend the magic required to cross over, while Fear remains at the Great Aspects side, feeding him the necessary energy to keep him going; there is no shortage of fear in this new world.

 

Deceit strains with the effort, still largely residing on the dreaming side of the veil, but it is enough that they can see what is happening.

 

They are stunned, momentarily.

Daughter and Heart are both here. In the temple.

Fear sends back an argument, images of each of their respective deaths to discourage Deceits newfound optimism.

But Deceit knows disguises and hidden truths; would be able to recognize if they were impostors.

It is undoubtedly them. Alive.

 

The Great Aspect shifts in his interest and instructs Deceit to continue its observations.

 

The group has moved to another room while they were having their debate, and Deceit follows its old paths, overgrown with tainted energies that it is easily able to maneuver around like a well-worn trail.

 

Daughter and Heart are traveling with others.

There is a Child of the Stone, though he does not seem connected to it in the same manner they once had been; it seems the People were not the only ones to lose pieces of themselves.

  
And the Wolf.

 

The Great Aspect rises when he sees him beside Daughter once more, and Deceit can feel the anger even with so great a distance between them. He understands sacrifices can sometimes not be avoided, and must be made for the greater good of the world and its people.

It does not mean he will forgive the Wolf for what he took.

 

Deceit debates attempting to trick the wolf; perhaps they could lead him someplace where a trap is still active, could seal him there and keep him from harming Daughter or Heart once again. But there is no trap that would be powerful enough now, they know. Not with their temple in shambles and their own powers so greatly diminished.

 

They will revisit the idea when they have gathered more power.

 

Heart-  _Selene_ , the Wolf calls her and Deceits feathers ruffle to hear her name spoken by one who wronged them so greatly, to see her smile at him and offer him a friendship that he does not deserve, is observing the Runes, holding up a torch of Veilfire while the Wolf inspects them and pretends to not have intimate knowledge of their workings already.

 

Still…Deceit is unable to safely communicate with the Wolf, and Daughter is radiating with the wolves magic in a way that sends chills down its spine, but perhaps Heart would be safe. She would not hurt them, they think. It is not in her nature.

 

Still in the dreaming, it drifts to her shoulder, briefly taking comfort in the familiarity (however one-sided it may be) and whispers instructions into her ear.

 

She pauses as it speaks to her, and though it knows she is not hearing everything, is only getting pieces, broken and disconnected as they are muddied in their journey past the veil and spoken in a tongue she is no longer familiar with, she is clever. She will be able to decipher the puzzle. All they will need to do then, is wait.

 

–

The High Priest is a difficult battle, but they manage without too many injuries. The Inquisitor is gathering the loot while Selene is healing some of Varric’s wounds; she’s not sure how he goes down so quickly when he shouldn’t be anywhere near the heart of the battle in the first place, but he just laughs it off and tells her “Healers aren’t supposed to turn their arms into magic swords and go charging headfirst into battle either, Moonbeam.”

 

Selene just shrugs “Someone has to cover the Inquisitor when Solas is too busy staring at her ass to remember his frost spells aren’t permanent,”

 

Solas sputters indignantly from somewhere behind her (where he was no doubt watching the inquisitor bent over the treasure chest  _anyways_ ) while Lavellan and Varric laugh.

 

A chill goes down Selene’s spine as she hears something whispering again, and she stands quickly, spinning on her heel in an attempt to locate where the sound is coming from.

She doesn’t see anything.

Solas is looking at her curiously though.

“Is something wrong, Lethallan?”

 

Selene goes to shake her head, but stops herself “I’m not sure. I thought the whispering was just because of those creepy body parts and the Priest, but we’ve defeated him and they’re still…I don’t know, but I can definitely hear  _something_.”

 

“Tell me this is the part where we ignore it and go home anyways,” Varric sighs

 

“What kind of story would that be, Varric?” Selene teases.

 

“The kind where the hero lives to tell their own tale,” he calls out while she walks back towards a chamber they had already opened and looted anyways.

 

There is nothing left in here that she sees, but the whispering is louder. There are two altars on the wall, both empty after their collecting spree. Something seems to be…glinting, though, on the wall between them. She picks a veilfire torch off the wall and holds it just above the glimmer, but still nothing appears. She reaches out for it, the whispering growing louder and louder in her ears, and she can almost hear Solas yelling something from behind her that sounds like 'no’ or 'dont’ but her hand is on the wall now and it is  _warm_  and the whispers sound more like words and the voices are familiar as the wall disappears in a great burst of blinding light.

 

There is a dragon on the other side.

 

Large, and black with scales like stars in the light of the veilfire and it’s eyes are a deep blue and it is  _staring_  at her and she knows she is supposed to move, get behind it’s legs and take those out first if you want to defeat it without losing anyone, but she does not want to hurt it. It doesn’t seem to want to hurt  _her_  either.

It emits a low grumble and a bird flies off of its shoulder as it shifts, and becomes distinctly more elf-like.

It is very tall, with long black hair the same color as its scales had been cascading down its back and almost onto the floor. It is dressed in elaborate robes that she suspects Vivienne would practically drool over while taking mental notes to give to her tailor, and it’s eyes are still that same deep blue behind its mask, which is twisting up on two corners in a mimicry of its horns and comes down to a sharp point on its chin.

 

“Ma Serannas, emma lath” it grumbles without moving its (his?) mouth.

 

“Wait,  _what_?!” Selene cries out, when his words register.

–

It is strange to be on two legs again after so long, but this form seems to unnerve Selene and his Daughter less, he thinks.

His mask has changed, likely a side effect from remaining in the other form for so long.

Selene is speaking, quickly and often as she always has, but he is unable to understand the words.

He looks at his Daughter, and she looks healthy and happy and his heart swells to see her alive once more even if the Wolfs energies are swirling through her; he will be able to correct that, in time.

 

She also does not seem to recognize him, however.

 

He reluctantly turns to the Wolf who appears stuck in between his own Fight or Flight instinct.

Good.

 

“ _How much time has passed here?_ ” he asks of the Wolf.

The Wolf looks as though he has bitten into a particularly sour fruit as his gaze flits between Lavellan and himself “ _More than I can adequately portray here._ ”

 

“ _Then we will go someplace more adequate_ ,”

 

“ _The world has changed. Your family is a myth now, stories told to children. Not People any longer,_ ”

 

“ _Then I will walk as one of the People myself, if that is what will be necessary,_ ”

 

The Wolf tenses “ _That would not be advisable,_ ”

 

“ _I have no interest in your advice_ ,”

 

Deceit flits back to Dirthamen, solidifying itself now that the three of them are back on this side of the dreaming, and informs him of the Wolfs secrets.

 

Dirthamen considers  _“I will not permit you to harm them again. I will come with you, or else I will reveal to them all of the things you have been hiding,_ ”

 

The Wolf’s knuckles whiten briefly over his staff, before he reluctantly agrees “ _…as you wish._ ”

–

Solas and the Elven-dragon-man have been conversing in surprisingly fluent elvhen for several minutes now, and Selene and Lavellan are stuck exchanging uneasy looks with each other while Varric casually cleans some of the demonic gook off of Bianca.

 

Solas looks uneasy as he turns back towards the group, and lets out a sigh “Selene,” he says, looking at her pointedly “This man will be your responsibility,”

  
Selene gawks at Solas “Excuse you?! I never agreed to that! I can’t even speak to him, how am I supposed to keep an eye on someone who can turn into a blasted  _dragon_?”

 

“You sealed the pact when you placed your hand against the wall,” he explains “It was a blood pact. Likely an ancestor of yours was a servant here, and so you became a sufficient key.”

 

Selene groans and places her head in her hands “So, is he another priest? A particularly faithful servant?”

 

Solas tenses and looks briefly at the mostly-elvhen man behind him “He claims to be Dirthamen himself, in fact,”

 

The Inquisitors eyebrows shoot up and Selene pales. Varric lets out a deep sigh,

 

“Well, shit.”


	2. Chapter 2

The trip back to Skyhold is awkward at best.

They had only brought two tents, and with the extra body, there were a lot of arguments.

Solas refused to share a tent with Dirthamen, Dirthamen refused to let Solas share a tent with Lavellan or Selene, and Varric just wanted everyone to stop yelling elven curses at each other. Or at least give him a translation so he could write it down later.

 

Eventually, Solas and Varric managed to grumpily share a tent while Dirthamen passed out in between Selene and Lavellan, and somehow managed to seem happiest when literally dragging Solas out of his tent in the morning to inform him that breakfast was ready.

 

Everyone is thankful when they manage to cross the bridge and get through the gates.

 

Selene is less thankful when Dirthamen follows her all the way to her room. She turns and faces him, sliding off her shoulder guards while he sits comfortably on her bed, his ravens flitting to the windowsill.

 

“So, how is this supposed to work? Am I supposed to like, pray to you, or make an altar or sacrifice something?” she scrunches up her face at the last remark “I’m really not comfortable making sacrifices.”

 

Dirthamen tilts his head slightly, still not quite understanding the spoken language.

 

“Dark, twisted, the song was wrong. She used to sing, and the sound would soothe but now the words are wrong too,” Cole appears, knees pulled up to his chest on Selenes dresser as she sighs.

  
“Hello to you too, Cole.”

 

“He needs your help,”

 

Selene raises an eyebrow and glances between Cole and Dirthamen “Is he a spirit too, then?” she asks hopefully; if he’s just a confused spirit, that would make this much easier to handle.

 

“No, but yes. He was, once, drifting, dreaming. There were two, then,” Cole glances at the windowsill “There are two, now, but they are both him. It is not the same, but it is better, even if it makes him sad,”

 

Selene turns to face Cole as he continues “He wants to tell you, wants to ask permission but he doesn’t have the words. His are older, but you have forgotten, fallen, forged by the weight of words unspoken.”

 

“Cole, what are you talking about?”

 

“Breath exchanged, energies, knowledge shared and hearts joined,” he speaks quietly before making eye contact with Selene from beneath the brim of his hat “The wolf ate the girl in the woods but the prince still needs a kiss.”

 

Selene blinks, and turns to look at the elven-dragon-man sitting on her bed.

“Are you telling me I have to kiss him?”

 

“I want to help,”

“Are  _you_  going to kiss him?”

 

Cole pauses “I could, but it wouldn’t mean the same. It should be you, should always be you.”

 

Selene turns to face Dirthamen, still staring at her from his spot on the edge of her bed.

 

 _‘Right, “just kiss the elven god” said the Compassion spirit. No big deal,’_ she thinks as she steps closer to him.

 

He’s still got the mask.

She places a soft kiss to where his forehead should be, and takes a step back.

Nothing happens.

 

Dirthamen looks at her curiously, and stands, slowly removing his mask.

 

She thinks he is very handsome without it.

 

His eyes are still that same deep blue they had been when he had first appeared, and they make her breath catch in her throat as he closes the space between them, placing a finger gently beneath her chin and leaning in close as they fill up her field of vision. He pauses, his lips close enough that she can feel his breath against her own, and his eyes are clearly questioning, seeking permission. She nods, once, and then his lips are on hers and she is drowning, her arms move of their own accord and wrap around his neck and his hair is soft and it feels  _familiar_   _but it can’t be_   _Selene what are you_ _ **doing**_  but her sense seems to have left her as he wraps his own arms around her and lifts and suddenly she is lying on her bed and he is looming over her, but then he pulls back for breath and she remembers what is going on and shoves at him, sitting up so quickly her head bumps against her headboard and she curses loudly.

 

“Are you alright?” he says, still practically straddling her in her bed and when their eyes lock she has to force herself to look away.

 

“Yes, I’m fine,” she pauses “Wait, did you just speak? Did I  _understand_ you?”

 

He nods “It is a simple spell, but it requires a willing participant. It went both ways; you will be able to speak and understand elvhen now, as well. I would not take from you without giving in equal measure.”

 

Selenes head is spinning as she absorbs everything that just happened; he can speak common and she can speak elvhen and he really  _is_  an ancient elvhen god and she kissed him oh my god she kissed him her keeper is going to be  _so mad._  She lets out a heavy breath and leans her head back against the headboard, careful not to hit the same spot.

 

“I have a lot of questions.”

 

Dirthamen nods, but doesn’t move “I will give you the answers I am able to.”

 

Selene runs a hand down her face with a groan while she debates where she wants to start, but then there is a knock on the door.

 

“Moonbeam?” Varric asks as he lets herself in “I wanted to make sure everything was alright, and check on-” he pauses, as he takes in the scene in front of him, and Selene’s face turns bright red. The dwarf blinks, winks, gives her a grin and starts walking backwards, pulling the door closed as he does “I’ll just…come back later, then. Or actually, you find me. Have fun.”

Selene moves as if to stop him, but finds herself unable to with the weight still on top of her.

 

She groans again as the door clicks closed “Great. I’m going to be a trashy romance novel.”


	3. Chapter 3

The adjustment period goes more smoothly than Selene could have hoped for, all things considered.

Vivienne, Lilianna, Cassandra, and Cullen collectively tell Selene (in their own ways) that bringing in another apostate with Dirthamens…quirks, is dangerous.

She wouldn’t have expected to feel quite so insulted by their disapproval, but it stings each time.

Not that she can really blame them, she supposes; Dirthamen still wears his mask every time they travel outside of her room (which has quickly become  _their_ room, she’s noticed) and frequently converses with his two Ravens in Elvhen in front of others.

 

Even The Iron Bull is un-nerved by the guy.

“He’s a  _demon_ , Selene.”

 

“He is  _not_  a demon, Bull, don’t be rude.”

 

“He’s sure as shit not an apostate,”

 

“Of course he is, he’s a mage who never trained in a circle, ergo, he is an apostate,”

 

Bull grunts “If a guy who acts like that ever lived humbly in the woods, I’ll eat my damn eyepatch,”

 

Well. Selene supposes she can’t really argue that, so she chugs the rest of her ale instead.

 

Dirthamen is off ‘bonding’ with Kel (she’s not actually sure what that means, but for now she’s thankful to just have her shadows gone), so Selene has been drinking in the tavern instead.

 

“Oi! Finally got the newest elf-y outta your breeches have ya?”

Selene glances up at Sera, bent upside down over the staircase and grinning

 

“There’s been no 'elfys’ in my breeches, Sera. I hear you’ve been having a bit of dwarf in your own though,” Selene teases.

 

Sera laughs “Right. You’re drunk. Wanna go blow shit up?”

 

Yes. Yes she does.

–

She’s going to blame this on the alcohol, she decides, as they plant the devices on top of Cullens roof.

 

This is going to be terrible. They are going to be in so much trouble if they get caught.

 

But it’ll be  _fantastic_  if they don’t, too.

 

Sera is snickering “This’ll show 'em,”

 

“Why are we putting these here, instead of on the baffle-,battlenin-, _ba-ttle-ments_ , anyways?”

 

“Cause Cully needs a good show sometimes to keep 'im on his feet. S'good morale for the soldiers or whatever, right?”

 

Selene can feel something nagging in the back of her head about the idea, but right now she thinks Sera makes perfect sense, so she just shrugs, and ducks behind a few stacked boards instead.

 

 

“Right. Ready back there, then?”

 

Selene nods, summoning a small ball of fire to her fingertips.

 

Well. It was  _supposed_  to be a small ball of fire, she thinks, as most of the fireworks shoot off at once and Sera screams, grabbing Selene’s other hand and dragging her off the roof, laughing.

 

They’re both laughing now, in fact, the colorful explosions going off loudly in the sky behind them in several large bursts while they rush into the rotunda and attempt to hide in a shadowed alcove. They would probably have been more successful if they weren’t both still laughing, and if Solas hadn’t already been watching the door because of the loud noises.

 

He sighs disapprovingly at the pair, and Sera just flicks him a lewd gesture.

Selene stumbles towards him, one finger pressed to her lips, while Sera is more or less-supporting her weight “Don’t tell the others,” she whispers rather more loudly than she meant to.

 

“I suspect there will be no need to,” he smirks, pointing directly up; Selene’s gaze follows, slowly, and she sees two rather familiar looking birds staring down at her from the rookery.

She sticks her tongue out at them and grabs Sera’s hand, pulling her back out “C'mon, let’s see if Bull’ll let me try that thing on his horns again.”

–

Dirthamen is startled when he hears the explosion; is Tarasyl'an Te'las under attack? He throws up a barrier over himself and his Daughter (not his daughter here, but she is just the same) in reflex. She stands, hand on her hilt and walks towards a window. There is laughter, then, and she waves him over to the window as he commands Fear and Deceit to locate Selene.

There are colors in the sky, bright and loud and beautiful. People are staring, but no one is running.

 

Ah.  _Selene_  is running, he is told; but also laughing, so she is likely not in any danger.

 

“Cullen’s going to be mad,” Kel chuckles, but she is enjoying the light show just the same.

Cullen, which one was…ah, the human Commander.

“He does not enjoy such things?” Dirthamen inquires.

 

“Being launched off of his roof without notice? I doubt it. If he catches Sera, he’ll try to punish her again, along with whoever was helping her.”

 

Hm.

Likely he should not mention Selene’s involvement, then.

 

Varric approaches his Daughter, then. “Well, I swear I wasn’t the one who set them off but it’ll make for a hell of an entrace for 'em at least.”

 

“For who?”

 

“The friend I mentioned earlier, with the information about Corypheus? Just arrived. They’re waiting for you on the battlements. Whenever you get the chance, Inquisitor.”

His Daughter nods, and looks back towards Dirthamen “Shall we continue some other time then?”

 

Dirthamen nods; and looks back towards the sky.

 

The lights are very pretty, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

Inquisitor Kel left with Varric, Bull, and Solas quickly for their trip to meet with Hawke and Warden Alistair at the Western Approach.

Selene was not thrilled with being told to stay behind.

 

“They are going to get injured,”

 

“They will be fine,” Dirthamen insists, browsing casually through the drawers in Solas’s desk.

 

“Bull literally  _tries_  to get himself injured in battle. I should be there.”

 

“If you went, you would be at risk for demonic possession,”

 

“So is Solas!”

 

“It is not the same,”

 

Selene glares at Dirthamen, huffing down onto the couch “You’re being overprotective. Shouldn’t you be worried about Kel instead?”

 

“Fear is keeping an eye on her. If anything happens, I will ensure she survives.”

 

Selene sighs “I didn’t join the inquisition to sit around and play house, you know.”

 

Dirthamen pulls out a small stack of papers from a fake bottom in one of the desk drawers and sits down next to Selene, flipping through them “I understand.”

 

“But you aren’t willing to change your stance?”

 

“Correct.”

 

Selene huffs, and stands, leaving Dirthamen alone on the couch “Well, I’m at least going to help out around here. I’ll be in the healing tent if you need anything,” she waves over her shoulder as she exits the rotunda, and Dirthamen frowns at being left alone again.

 

“Ah, young love. Trouble in paradise, hm?”

 

Dirthamen glances up and sees the Mage Dorian waving at him from over the banister “Mind if I join you, now that you’re all by your lonesome?”

 

Dirthamen supposes it would not be any burden if he did, and says as much.

 

Dorian joins him, opting to sit in the high back chair rather than beside him on the couch.

“So. Lot’s of interesting rumors floating around about you. Are any of them true?”

 

“Potentially,”

 

Dorians mustache quirks “A man of few words, I see,”

Dirthamen merely nods.

“Well, let it not be said I shy away from the tough questions I suppose; are you actually an Elven god?”

 

“By today’s standards, it appears so.”

 

“Are you also a demon?”

 

Dirthamen tilts his head curiously “Selene told me to always answer that with ‘an emphatic no _’._ Are such things a common issue here?”

 

Dorian laughs “Not quite so much in the South, but then Tevinter hardly claims them as a 'problem’ so much as an unfortunate side-effect of normal goings-on.”

 

“Is that where you hail from?”

 

“Indeed it is.”

 

“Do you miss it?”

 

“Sometimes. Mostly while eating and drinking. I fear my stomach may actually be acclimating to the swill they serve around here,”

 

Dirthamen nods. Though he has found little need to eat since he has reformed on this side of the Veil, he understands such rituals can be important to others.

 

“What made you leave, then?”

 

Dorian sighs “Oh, you know. Awful goings on, a gnawing sense of guilt and a terribly insistent moral compass, accompanied by a need to escape my families expectations.”

 

He perks slightly, at that “What happened with your family?”

 

“Ah. They wanted me to play into some power-plans of theirs and tried to force my hand. It didn’t go over well, and I had to leave.”

 

“You must be very brave,” Dirthamen notes, though Dorian seems temporarily stunned by the compliment before continuing.

 

“Yes, well, I am quite a wonder I’ve been told. A glittering jewel, shining above all else.”

 

“I would perhaps, not go quite that far.”

 

“You’re into a different sort of gem, then. Understandable, she’s quite lovely, if you’re into that. Which does bring about my next point quite nicely; what precisely are your intentions with our local healing mage, and the Inquisitor? ”  
  


“I am here to protect them, and to fix things,” he answers simply.

 

“So you’re intending to fix the breach then?”

 

“Among other things, yes.”

 

They pass a surprising amount of time between each other then, Dorian asking a seemingly endless amount of questions and Dirthamen answering what he feels is appropriate. Dorian begins scribbling onto some of Solas’s loose papers after a time, as Dirthamen goes back to reading through the stack of papers he previously procured.

 

It is dark out when Selene returns, hair still dripping slightly from the bath “You haven’t moved all day?” she asks disapprovingly.

 

“We’ve been having the most lovely conversation. You’ve discovered quite the charmer.”

 

Selene glances between Dirthamen and Dorian quickly “This guy? The mage in the mask?  _You_  think he’s charming?”

 

She can feel Dirthamen pouting petulantly while Dorian stands and pats her on the shoulder “Very much so. I look forward to many more private lessons in the days to come,” he teases, blowing Dirthamen a kiss and heading out towards his rooms.

 

Selene blinks a few times, and narrows her eyes slightly at Dirthamen “…what in Thedas did I miss?”

 

He shrugs and returns the papers to their previously hidden spot, then extends his hand towards her “My 'charm’, apparently. I shall have to take steps to correct that.”


	5. Chapter 5

The Dawn comes early that morning. Selene groans when the first few rays of sunlight fall over her eyes. Dirthamens arms tighten around her, and he silently encourages her to stay in their bed with him. She grumbles something incoherent and turns to bury her face into his chest. Fingers stroke tenderly through her hair, whispering quiet praise and warm words.

Sleeping with an ancient god turned out to be one of the better decisions she’s made, she thinks.

Her responsibilities won’t stay away for much longer though. They are heading out to lay siege to Adamant today.

She will need to be there to leave with the troops and the rest of the party.

 

Placing a kiss to the crook of his neck, Selene sits up, stretching. The blankets fall away, leaving her bare and exposed and Dirthamen quickly pulls her back down and against him.

“Let someone else go,” he pleads again.

She sighs.

“People are going to get hurt, and they will need someone to help the injured when the smoke clears. I have to go.”

“You could just as easily become one of the injured,” he argues.

“True. But I survived this long on my own, I’ll be alright. A large portion of the inquisitions forces will be there, it is not as though I’m going to be fighting alone.”

 

He does not seem particularly reassured.

 

Selene smiles at him, and shifts until she is over him, straddling him as she had the night before. Dirthamens hands drift over her legs, her back, her hips, while she leans down and covers him in soft kisses, her own hands trailing over his chest and neck.

“I will come back to you,” she vows.

He sighs and leans up until their lips meet. Soft and yielding, warm and familiar. Leaving never gets any easier.

“I will still miss you,” he whispers against her “I fear that will never change.”

She presses her lips to his forehead, pulls his hand up to rest over her heart. “That is a part of life, Vhenan,” she sighs. “We do what we must.”

 

He knows. As she stands and her warmth leaves him, he knows. She dons her armor and her staff and walks out to join the others; The Dwarf, The Champion, The Warden, his Daughter, and The Wolf.

He debates going with them, but it would dishonor his daughters request that he remain in their fortress. Deceit and Fear squabble over the matter while he watches them march out into the mountains.

He will wait.

For now, it is all he can do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A side story, for fun.

Varric frowns over the rough, first draft for his latest novel.

_Sulvuna’s eyes widened as she beheld the dark figure who had emerged from the shrine of Dirth’Falon. The usual tributes fell from the priestess’ soft, gentle hands, and a gasp escaped her. The man was like mystery incarnate. Dressed like a king, but clearly an elf, with shadows cleaving to him from all sides. The portal that had opened behind him smelled like whispers and smoke._

_He extended a hand towards her._

_“Come, Sulvuna,” he called. There was a deep longing and sorrow in his sapphire gaze. “Come with me, to the lands of the dead, and be my bride.”  
_

_The priestess fainted._

Should he put in a line about her gasping and heaving bosoms? Or would that be too much, he wonders? Maybe he should let his editor handle the call on that one.

* * *

 

“I did not  _faint_ ,” Selene argues, reading over a copy of the script.

“And I do not rule over the lands of the dead, you are confusing me for my brother, and daughter.” Dirthamen adds.

Varric waves his hand “It’s fine, they’re just minor details for dramatic effect, the readers’ll eat it up,”

Selene scoffs “If anyone actually finds this interesting, I will pose for the cover art,  _personally_ ,”

Varric grins and waves at somebody behind Selene “Hey, Seeker! Ya busy? I’m working on a new story. It’s a  _steamy one_ ,”

Selene groans and drops her head into her hands, while Cassandra walks over, publicly berating Varric, but, she notes, taking the manuscript anyways.

Varric props his head up on his hand and smiles proudly at Selene “So, when should I have the artist stop by for your session?”

* * *

Selene stares down at the flowing, gauzy white gown she’s been told to wear. And then she looks over at Dirthamen, who has been dressed in an open-front black dress shirt, and pants that look like they were painted on.

“Swoon into his arms,” Varric’s cover artist instructs her.

Selene frowns, and stays right where she is, thank you very much.

“I agreed to pose for the cover. I never said  _how,”_ she counters.

The artist gives her a withering look.

“It is a  _romance novel,”_  he says. “Swooning is  _required.”_

Selene feels her cheeks heat, and her feet absolutely refuse to budge.

Her only warning, then, is a brief shifting of dark fabric in the corner of her eye, before suddenly she finds her arms full of Dirthamen. Who has cast one arm dramatically across his forehead, and works the other around her shoulders, and is… impressively managing to actually hold most of his own weight, somehow, on the backs of his heels. 

“Will this do?” he asks.

Selene’s hand is on his stomach.

Like, a quarter of an inch away from his bare chest.

The artist frowns.

“No!” he exclaims. “The man does not swoon! The woman swoons! Reverse positions.”

“That seems needlessly over-selective,” Dirthamen asserts, as he straightens back up. He lifts one of her hands, and Selene swallows as she looks into his eyes. He’s wearing his mask, but, she can tell when he smiles. His eyes lift at the corner.

“Would you mind terribly falling into my arms?” he asks.

Selene swoons.

But only because it would seem rude not to.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this point forward, most of these chapters will be snippets and character moments of this AU, rather than full, plot-driven chapters. Most will still be in chronological order though the connecting threads will be a bit more disjointed.

Daughter, The Wolf, The Dwarf and The Bull arrive inside of Mythals temple through the proper rites long before Corypheus is able to blunder his army through.

Dirthamen is not prepared for what they find.

 

Another army, full of elves freshly woken from Uthenera.

And one less freshly woken than the others.

 

Deceit wings through her, checking and double checking, because she  _died_ , she ran into the dreaming and never came back. It has been  _months_ since Selene was lost.

And while months may have been the blink of an eye for Dirthamen once, each day has seemed to drag him farther and farther from himself since her absence.

But this is not  **his**  Selene.

He knows it as she holds her staff like a soldier, back straight as the arrows being pulled taut around them. Only one space from their apparent leader. _Abelas_ , he introduces.

He worries that Selene has changed her name as well.

 

Kel navigates the conversation more eloquently than Dirthamen believes he himself could at this moment, and the weapons pointed at them drop.

His gaze does not leave Selene’s face. Or the elaborate branching design that is now covering her face in red. Blood red.

Dirthamen knows then, that his mother must have found her in the dreaming.

 

This is vengeance, pure and simple. A punishment for their transgressions. For defeating her. For trapping her.

For letting her live.

 

Selene’s eyes meet his, and his heartbeat quickens, even as Fear warns that she does not recognize him. That it is not a shimmer of love or kindness in her eyes. That she is merely deciding how best to kill him if he should misstep.

 

Her memories have been lost again. Taken from her, and placed out of his reach.

He sees the trap before it hits, as they chase after Morrigan and Abelas to their goal of the well, and Solas feeds his daughter more lies.

 

And then the vir'abelasan is there. Full and bright and brimming with whispers.

He can hear Selenes voice within them and realizes the trap.

 

If he acknowledges that he recognizes her voice and forces her to drink, she will be permanently bound to his mother, in what would be considered a willing bond, and therefore lost to him forever.

And if she does not drink, her memories,  _their_ memories will be permanently lost to her. All of their moments and lifetimes together, from Arlathan to Skyhold. Everything before that damned wolf left her in the dreaming will be gone, and she will still bear his mothers markings.

But markings can be removed.

 

It is far too late to save his Selene, the one he loved, who loved him in return. He sees that. His mother has outmaneuvered him at this point in the game.

 

But Dirthamen is patient. He waited millenia in the dreaming, with no hope of regaining his freedom. Selene is  _here_ , he can see her, could reach out and touch her if she would not set him aflame for it. That is far more than he had to work with then, and it is more than he is willing to let go of now.

 

So when the Wolf glances at Selene when the question of who should drink is brought up, Dirthamen remains silent. Allows his not-quite-sister to drink instead.

But he does plant the idea in Abelas’s head that the Inquisition would be a strong ally for the Sentinels in this new world. For those who would be willing to leave.

Selene has always been willing to leave.

He hopes that aspect has not changed.


	8. An Abandoned or Empty Place

When the Sentinels arrive at Skyhold, there is some concern over where they should be placed. Secured areas where they can rest, and bathe, and retrain after centuries of slumber and atrophied muscles.

 

And of course, there is the matter of Selene.

 

Varric goes sheet white when he sees her re-enter alongside Abelas, muttering a quiet “Holy shit,” the pen in his hand freezing mid letter.

Bull leaves to get drunk at the bar, to try to forget how many other faces he’s seen as blank as hers after encounters with the reeducators.

Sera lets out a long string of curses, and detailed accounts of all the friggin’ arrows shes gonna get right into Corpyhenis’s squishy bits.

Dorian doesn’t say anything. Just buries himself in the library with a pile of books and a pilfered bottle of wine.

 

Dirthamen argues that Selene should be permitted her old room again, rather than forced to stay in the make shift barracks with the ancient elvhen she has no true kinship with. Kel agrees, and since Dirthamen is the one who had been using it in her absence Josephine sees no reason not to permit it. If perhaps there are some Antivan specialty teas and assorted dried fruits waiting inside said room later that day, well.

Dirthamen is thankful to see the others missed her presence, also.

 

Selene, in fact, seems to be the only one confused about the arrangement.

“Have I done something wrong, my Lord?” she questions while he escorts her to her room, and away from the other Sentinels. She keeps a very respectful two step distance between them at all times, and he aches to be able to wind his fingers through her own.

“No. I simply thought this would be a more comfortable arrangement for you.”

Selene nods, but does not seem particularly assured. Especially once she realizes the two of them will be sharing a bed.

“I feel I should inform you that I was not a pleasure worker, and may not be able to sufficiently please you in this regard, My Lord.”

 

Dirthamen’s heart sinks into his stomach. He should have realized that is how it would appear. Had, perhaps, been hoping the sight of her room and the two of them in it may have triggered something. Some memory, some lingering detail to remind her of their bond.

But there is no light of recognition anywhere in her eyes.

 

“She doesn’t sing anymore. I liked the singing. Sweet, soft, like starlight breaking through the clouds.”

 

Selene glances at Cole, and bows her head respectfully “Compassion,” she greets.

 

Coles face scrunches and he turns to look at Dirthamen “Golden eyes and the smell of blood. Dread and death and then all she knew was darkness. It’s still her but it’s  _wrong_.”

 

“That is enough, Cole.” Dirthamen whispers.

 

Selene seems unperturbed by the spirits prodding however, as she carefully sorts through the small basket Ambassador Montilyet  had sent. She pauses, frozen for a moment before she carefully lifts one of the sheer bags and twirls it between her fingers.

Strawberries.

“Are these yours, My Lord?” she asks, without looking up from the pouch. In truth, Dirthamen had no particular inclination towards the fruit. Had always kept them stocked in his kitchens, and planted gardens overflowing with them because of Selenes preference.

 

“You may have them, if you’d like,” he answers.

 

She hesitates still, fingers fiddling with the drawstring before she bows her head.

“Thank you.”

 

Dirthamen swallows, and assures her it’s no trouble. Wishes to tell her she may have anything, whatever her heart desires. That he would move the mountains and rivers and sky for her, if only she asked, if only it would give her a reason to smile.

 

But for now, he will wait. He will allow himself to sit with his longings, and thoughts, and desires for as long as it takes her to love him again.

And in the meantime, he will set his own plans into motion. He will not lose another world. Not to Pride.


	9. Fist Fight

Solas had known Dirthamen would be upset when they returned from Adamant without Selene.

Perhaps, then, he should have seen that first punch coming.

Unfortunately, he is caught largely off guard as the elf’s knuckles collide with his jaw and make a sickening  _cracking_  sound.

Even in his dazed state, Solas is half impressed. Back in the days of Elvhenan, it was rare to see his temper explode in such a way, and he’d no way to know that sort of force was hiding beneath Dirthamens cloak.

Solas is prepared for the second strike, however, his barrier raising quickly enough that Dirthamens fist bounces off of it. It only serves to further infuriate the ex-god, who screams and blasts through the barrier with his magic with ease and sending a shock-wave through the courtyard that alerts most of Skyhold.

Well, whatever subtlety Solas had hoped to use in his defense must now be pushed aside, he supposes.

This is going to  _hurt._

 

Dirthamen screams, and yells, calls him betrayer, and traitor, and murderer, and every other title Solas feels he has rightfully earned.  
He does not strike back in any aggressive capacity. Only reflective spells, and barriers, and enchantments in hopes that they might slow or exhaust the other man. But the mask falls from his face with the force of one, and it does not so much as give Dirthamen pause.

With every blow, Solas can see his features changing, shifting to resemble those of his father. Of Elgar'nan.

“You are losing yourself,” He tries to say, but it is muddled beneath the blood beginning to flood his mouth, and the pain is beginning to make him truly woozy.

He tries to move, to fade step away perhaps, but his ribs have been damaged and even shifting his torso is excruciatingly painful. His vision is getting spotty as the blows continue to land, one after another after another in a flurry of rage and pain and screams.

And then suddenly it stops.

 

Solas tries to blink away the holes in his vision with little success, but manages to turn his head enough to discover what has stopped his punishment.

The Inquisitor has come to his rescue.

Dirthamen argues with her, tells her that Solas is not worth protecting and will only bring more pain and death.

Solas wishes he could claim that were false, or even an exaggeration. But he won’t lie. Not to her.

Instead he remains silent, allowing the inquisitor to fight his battle with no small amount of guilt or shame on his end. Dirthamen spits on the ground near his head, and mutters a vow of vengeance.

Not a thing to take lightly, Solas knows.

And as Inquisitor Lavellan bends down and gently lifts him into her arms, carrying him to the healing tent, he hopes, just for a moment, that Dirthamen will follow through on his word.


	10. fury in dreams

Sleeping in the same bed has become…complicated. Selene sleeps flat, and straight, and with as much space between them as she can manage. But it keeps them near in the Dreaming, which is useful for Dirthamens purposes. Deceit flits through her dreams, guiding her towards pathways that were once familiar. Selene shies away each time however, drawn to other trails less traveled.

When she wakes in the morning, she is silent. Feet sturdy on the cold ground of what had once been a room filled with laughter and love, now only filled with a silent fury.

“How dare you,” She whispers.

Dirthamen blinks, and inclines his head. He does not pretend not to know what is she upset about, he owes her that much.

“I am sorry, for intruding on your dreams.”

 

“If you are sorry,” She glares, gaze glacial as the wind blowing through the open window “You will not do this again.”

 

She exits without another word, leaving him alone with his memories and cold chill of the mountains around them.


	11. You Love Me

“You love me.”

It is not a question when she says it.

 

“Yes,” is all Dirthamen can manage. 

  
  
Selenes hands are in tight fists at her sides. She is wearing her sentinel armor and his mothers markings are still bright are on her skin.

“Why?”

 

It is an interesting question. Not the first time she has asked him, and yet he has still yet to determine a suitable answer that would not make his feelings seem conditional, or limited in some way.

“Because.”

 

Her knuckles pale where they hang at her hips as her grip tightens. “That is-! That is not an answer.”

 

Dirthamens head tilts slightly “The only condition something must meet to qualify as an answer, is that it is a reaction to a question. I am sorry if it was not the answer you were searching for. Perhaps if you were more specific, I could be of more assistance.”

 

Selene sighs, but the tension does not leave her shoulders. “I…I do not know what answer I am searching for. The more questions I try to solve, the more I am bombarded with. I do not know what I can trust, or what is true, anymore. The people I thought I knew do not remember me, and the strangers here know me by name. I have never visited Tarasyl'an Te'las, and yet my feet always seem to know their way.”

 

Dirthamen nods, fingers itching to reach forward. To pull Selene towards him, and tell her all that she has forgotten. To whisper her stories and secrets and praise. To keep her safe. To ensure she can never be hurt again, can never be  _lost_  again.

 

“I was told we were… _together_ ,” she supplies, shifting awkwardly on the balls of her feet.

 

“Yes,” he answers.

 

“I do not remember you.”

 

Dirthamen swallows the sting. It is not her fault, it is his, he tells himself. It was he who pulled her into this world, who dragged her into the eyes of his family members and consequentially into the war. He who determined that she should know of their life together in Elvhenan, who was too impatient to let things develop on their own because he was so afraid of losing her again.

“That is not your fault,” he whispers.

“No. I did not think it was.”

Dirthamen nods again.

 

“Why have you not moved on?” Selene blurts, after a moment.

Dirthamen blinks. “Why would I?”

“Because I do not remember you. I do not recall you, or anything people claim we experienced together, and yet you seem to torture yourself each night with images of events wherein the other member of the experience does not recall it even occurred, or what they may or may not have been feeling at the time. There are thousands of elves, and other races besides. There is no reason to put yourself through that sort of pain for someone who may never return your affections!”

 

Ah.

“You have been watching my dreams, then.”

 

Selenes mouth opens. Closes. Her shoulders raise as she averts her eyes “You watched mine first.”

 

“That is true. I will ask, as you did, that you do not intrude on them without permission in the future. They are not always pleasant, or safe.”

“I…yes. I’m sorry.”

 

“You are forgiven,” Dirthamen states, eyes lingering on a strand of her hair that has escaped from her ponytail. Before he can properly restrain himself, his hand reaches forward to tuck it behind the point of her ear. His fingers falter as they follow the line of it down to her cheek. Her shoulders have slackened, the skin beneath her markings flushing slightly as her eyes trail over his mask.

 

“I…”she whispers.

 

Dirthamen waits, his hand still resting beside the point of her cheekbones as she swallows.

 

“I should go,” Selene resolves. She drops into a quick, informal bow, and hastily makes her way out of the lower library and up the staircase.

 

Dirthamen is unsure whether the encounter should be considered a positive one. But it is progress, nonetheless.


	12. Chapter 12

_Lies lingered on his lips as he kissed her. She wasn’t her. She wasn’t real. A part, separate, long reduced to ash sang out from the distance of time; lies remain lies, no matter how sweet. He swallowed these truths, and kissed her lips to disguise the taste of bile rising. Honey made even the most disgusting medicine go down.([x](https://selenelavellan.tumblr.com/post/155554507009/lies-lingered-on-his-lips-as-he-kissed-her-she))_

Night after night, Selene has watched this scene play out in Lord Dirthamen’s dreams. It had seemed only fair, after his own intrusions into hers.

She is still struggling to make sense of it.

This image who is her but is not her. She laughs in a way that suggests an ease Selene has never felt. Smiles at him in a way Selene has never smiled at anyone. And when she tries to think of such things, tries to remember if in all her millenias of life she has ever felt anything like what she is seeing, she finds only emptiness. Holes, where she should have memories. If she presses at them, there are flashes. Bright lights and a feeling of warmth before it is ripped violently further from her.

And when she thinks on her own memories, of the wars and the fall and her Lady and her fellow Sentinels, they falter. Faces that are blurs with nothing beneath. Fabric fraying apart beneath her fingertips, a battlefield where she is the only one for miles, but still she is bloodied and angry and tired. Pushing, fighting, for something. But when she tries to think of what she was fighting so desperately for, she finds…

Nothing.

 

She discusses the matter with Abelas, during the day. He and the rest of the Sentinels still adjusting to the way things are done within Tarasyl'an Te'las, or Skyhold, as it is now called.   
He has had similar issues of his own, apparently. He admits it was one of the reasons he did not resist when the Inquisition asked to separate her from the others. Admits that neither he, nor the others, have any memory of her that predates their last awakening.

It makes her question herself.

 

She has seen the looks from others, of course. The pitying looks, the half spoken words. ‘People’ looking at her as though she is only half-there.

Selene finds it very frustrating; half of the community seems to be scared to approach her for fear of what may happen to them by their higher ups, and many of their higher ups are afraid to speak for fear of what may happen to  _her._ As though she is made of some delicate glass that could shatter and break if mishandled, and not flesh and bone and magic and things that could render this world apart if she could reach across that blasted veil and  _take_  it.

 

So she wanders alone. Taking in her surroundings and wondering if she might not be better off outside of these walls.

 

“ _ **SELEEENE**_ **!** ”

 

Selene pauses in her steps. She…did someone just call her name?

 

“SELEEEENE! OI, GET YER HEAD OUT OF YOUR ARSE AND GET DOWN HERE!”

 

She blinks, and moves to the edge of the rampart, trying to find the source of the noise. An arrow whizzes just past her head and sticks in the stone beside her. There is a pair of red undergarments wrapped around the shaft.

Selenes eyebrows raise, as she removes the arrow and attached lingerie, and makes her way down to the blonde woman who keeps waving.

 

“Is this how your people court now?” Selene asks. It seems rather blunt, but she can’t really knock the effectiveness of it.

 

“Heh. What? Your Dirthy’d knock my head if we knocked boots. Knock…well not knock like we’d be knocking, but knock like pain, yeah?”

 

Selene tilts her head and tries to make sense of that sentence.

 

“Ugh, that elfy shite really messed up your head. Still you though.”

“Who else would I be?”

“Dunno. A Sentinel shit maybe. Thought Solas’d be getting all fluttery in your space like he did with everything else at the temple. S'just avoiding you though, which is weird but good. I guess.”

 

Selene frowns “I  _am_  a Sentinel.”

“Pfft. Yeah ok. You’re a Sentinel and I’m a friggin’ mage.”

 

Selene blinks, and holds out the red fabric to the strange elf “Are these yours?”

 

“Nah, they’re Vivvy’s but she won’t miss ‘em.”

“Right…'Vivvy’…And your name again was…?”

“ _Sera_. Don’t forget it again, third time you ask I have to start charging. Or make a new one.”

 

Selene just nods, even though she doesn’t remember asking a first time. “Ok. Sera. Do I know you?”

“Yeah. All of us. Rumor is you forgot though, so I won’t take it too personal this time. Wanna go blow stuff up?”

 

“Is that permitted?”

Sera’s eyes narrow and her nose squinches up in distaste “What? No. Doesn’t matter. S'fun.”

 

Selene considers her options; a God who seems determined to claim her, the pitying looks of strangers that claim they aren’t strangers, her family that doesn’t recall her existence, or this strange elf inviting her to join in something she claims is fun.

 

“I would love to ‘blow stuff up’, Sera. Thank you.”

–

 

Blowing stuff up turns out to be a lot of fun, although short lived when the private cooks in the kitchens aren’t thrilled with the 'flower flour bombs’ Selene and Sera rig to go off whenever a new bag of flour is opened. Selene maintains the petals look very pretty, and it would have been deemed an acceptable loss for the sake of aesthetic before. Sera looks at her funny when she tries to use it as a defense though, and insists that they should both go and get 'hammered’ instead.

Selene is concerned her carpentry skills will not be up to par.

 

It is a relief then, when 'hammered’ turns out to mean drinking copious amounts of alcohol. Selene is  _very_  good at that, she discovers. Some of the others in the tavern look at her and Sera curiously when they walk in, but after a few pints, they are all singing along to something about 'horns pointing up’ and she is laughing with something called a Qunari.

She is not sure what that means exactly, but his horns are very impressive. Apparently his name is The Iron Bull, and Selene spends several minutes arguing with him about stronger metals he should have chosen instead of something as soft and pliable as iron.

 

Sera just laughs, and declares “Still her!”

 

“Who-who else would I  _be_?” Selene asks for the second time. “Everyone keeps acting like they know me but I don’t know you and the people I thought I knew don’t know me and it is all very…” She makes a motions with her hands to indicate swirling energies and conflicting forces and threads tangling but mostly she just gets strange looks in return.

 

“Still got your Dirthy though, right?” Sera asks with a teasing tone.

 

“What the frig is 'Dirthy’?” Selene yells at the ceiling.

 

“Y'know, Dirthy! With the mask and cloak and the giggles and then you’d do the moaning and push your squishy bits together. Friggin’  _loudly_ too.”

 

Somewhere in Selene’s alcohol soaked brain, she manages to put together 'mask’ and 'squishy bits’  and the repeated scenes in the fade, and practically shoots straight up from where she had been reclining on the table.  
“Wait, is 'Dirthy’ Dirthamen?  _Lord_  Dirthamen?”

“Euch, don’t call him a 'Lord’ outside of your games, else I gotta start sneaking eggs under his birds again.”

 

“I knew him?”

 

“Loudly,” Krem reiterates from his chair, and it sends most of The Chargers into a drunken laughing fit again.

 

Selene frowns “I don’t remember any of that.”

“Kidding right? You used to be trying to sell me some past life soulmate shite and now you don’t even remember him?”

“Not since before I woke up in the Temple, no…”

 

The Iron Bulls empty tankard drops loudly onto the table, and Selenes head turns toward him in alarm.

“You talk to him about any of this?” he asks.

Selene shakes her head, but pauses. “Talking is…the wrong verb to use, I think.”

 

The Iron Bull lets out a heavy sigh and mumbles to himself before speaking loudly enough for her to hear him “This is why you don’t get involved with DEMONS. You got a kink? Find a safe space and  _pretend_ like the rest of us.”

“He’s not a demon,” She feels inclined to point out.

 

“Friggin acts like he is…” Sera mumbles before taking a long swig from her own mug.

 

“You should talk to the Inquisitor,” The Iron Bull says “She knew you way before any of this weird magic shit started.”

 

Selene frowns, but nods. She still doesn’t remember anything anyone seems to be pointing out to her, but for now it’s…nice, to feel like people want her around. Even when Sera passes out face down in Selenes lap, and has to be carried back to her rooms.


	13. Chapter 13

“I’ve got everything under control,” Selene lies as she approaches the Inquisitor.

Mana'din.

 _Kel_ , she reminds herself.

“Really? You’re doing much better than I am, then.” The woman jokes.

“Do you have a moment? Or…several?”

Kel nods, and gestures for Selene to follow her. Out the hall, up the stairs and into what she assumes is the Inquisitors private room.  
It is…very large.

And one of Solas’s shirts seems to be tucked under the bed, she notes.

 

“What can I help you with, Selene?” Kel offers, swinging open the windows that lead to the balcony.

“I was told that you know me. Knew me. Before…whatever happened, happened.”

“You really don’t remember?”

“I wish that I did. But the things I thought I knew are wrong, and the things I don’t remember keep popping up.”

  
  


“That sounds very frustrating,” Kel smiles “You used to hate not being able to solve problems. This must be driving you mad.”

“You knew me then?”

“I did. We were good friends, growing up.”

 

Selene blinks, and lets out a heavy sigh as she rubs her head “Wait, I thought I was sleeping with Lord Dirthamen. Now I grew up alongside his daughter?”

“He wasn’t my father. Not that I can remember, anyways. He keeps saying ‘one day’ which is…mildly terrifying, to be honest. I can’t read if he’s threatening me, or just trying to be kind. I have difficulty reading him at all, most of the time.”

“That is strange. The resemblance is uncanny, though. I mean, Mana'din wore a mask most of the time for appearances, but when I had seen her without it, she looked a lot like you.”

“So I look like an Old God, but not the one people are claiming I’m the Herald of, or the one claiming to be my Father. Wonderful,” Kel lets out a soft sigh “I miss when the biggest concern was whether or not we were going to piss off the chantry.”

“Your boyfriend probably isn’t helping things either,” Selene mutters.

“Who, Solas?”

“If that’s what you’re calling him, sure.”

Kels eyebrows scrunch together and she levels a finger at Selene “We’re coming back to that later, but for now, you asked me about yourself.”

“I did.”

 

“What would you like to know?”

Selene pauses, pacing slightly on the floor as she contemplates where a good place to start would be.

“…What was I like?” she finally settles on.

“You were like…well, like you.”

Selene throws her hands up in the air “Oh, thank you. Of course, how  _could_  I be so blind.”

Kel let’s out a long laugh, at least “That’s what I mean. You were…fiery. But you listened, when you thought someone else knew better. You learned whatever skills people would let you get your hands on, whether it was your mothers gardening, your fathers healing, or even learning how to sword fight here in Skyhold. You and I used to go adventuring around the Aravels, playing with Alaris and the other children. You were always very good at counting, and calculating patterns other people often didn’t see, and it made us the best at hide and seek because you saw paths no one else did. We laughed a lot, bled together, grew up together. We even danced a few times at the Arlathvhen, do you remember that?”

  
Selene shakes her head slowly, sitting down on a chest at the foot of Kels bed as the Inquisitor scratches at the top of her head.

“You asked me not to go to the Conclave,” Kel finally sighs. “ ‘Too Dangerous, too many unknown variables’. I didn’t listen, of course. Keeper asked me to go, so I went. Simple as that. And then you showed up anyways! Hart in hand, smile on your face. 'Always here to help,’ you said. And you were. Even now, not remembering your own past you’re still  _here_ , still trying to help. Even when you don’t think you are, you’re still….you. You’re still Selene. Not even one of our Gods could take that from you, apparently.” Kels face spreads into a fond grin “Too stubborn for even the oldest magics, it seems.”

  
  


“…You did know me.” Selene whispers.

“I’d like to again, if you’ll let me.”

 

Selene taps her nails a few times over the edge of the chest, contemplating her options. “I’d like that too,” she finally agrees.

Kel pulls a chair over to sit near to her friend, and the ensuing conversation lasts well past the time the sun has dropped below the mountains.


	14. Flashbacks

Selene panics when she wakes up tangled with three strange bodies asleep in her bed.

They don’t remain asleep long. Sitting up in unison, three heads of long dark hair turn to look at her with an echoing “What is wrong?”

She screams.

 

Two of them place hands on her shoulders, attempts to comfort as they lean into her and she tries to remember where she left her sword through the haze of early morning fatigue.

 

“I told you this was a bad idea,” grumbles one.

“Selene, please, we would not harm you-”

“Calm down, you  _know_  us-”

“Good Deceit, force her to accept sudden changes, that has  _always_ ended well for us-”

“Fear,  _shut up_! Selene, no, I wasn’t yelling at you, please, just come back to bed-”

 

Her shoulders straighten as she spins on her heel face the trio, confidence back now that she has her enchanted sword safely in hand and pointed between them.

“Who are you?” she demands.

One raises his hand slowly, and with the fuzz of being newly awakened finally falling off of her, she feels just a bit guilty as she recognizes “You’re Dirthamen.”

 

He nods.

She nods.

 

Her sword waggles slightly between the other two questioningly.

 

“Deceit. Fear.” He introduces, pointing to each of them in turn.

She frowns, eyes squinting slightly as she inspects the other two. “Aren’t you-Weren’t you birds?”

 

“Normally,” Fear agrees “But  _somebody,_ ” they accuse, glaring back at Dirthamen “refused to return to that form last night while we were fatigued, so we were forced to take on our more elvhen bodies, instead. Which made it difficult to stay warm when the sun went down, and so…” they gesture to the filled bed “here we are.”

 

“So…you’re not birds.”

“Technically, we’re spirits,” Deceit chimes in.

“Like Cole?”

“Ehhh…..” Deceit whines, making a so-so gesture “Not quite.”

 

 

Selene nods, slowly, as she carefully places her sword back in its resting place.

“Ok. Right. Just-next time if you’re all going to just…crawl into my bed, let me know first, ok?”

“We will. I apologize for frightening you,” Dirthamen agrees.

“Good. Yes. Good, that’s-yes, right. Thank you.”

 

An awkward moment of silence falls over the room before Deceit speaks up again. “So…will you be coming back to bed then?”

 

Fear lets out a heavy sigh, and shakes his head into his hands.

 

“Is there room?” Selene jokes.

“There will always be room for you,” they grin, patting at the space between themselves and Dirthamen.

She swallows and pushes down the obvious meaning behind that before crawling back in ( _to her_ _ **own**_ _bed,_  she reminds herself) and slipping beneath the covers.

 

Fear settles a bit at least, once she’s comfortable. Dirthamen lays down to face her, while Deceit shifts to wrap their own arms around her waist and press against her.

“This is…different,” Selene notes. She had expected it to feel more reminiscent of times the clan traveled; stuffing too many bodies into an aravel, crushed against each other and trying to ignore the bounce and bumps of the rocks and roots in the trails. The uncomfortable press of sweaty bodies pushed together, and all the various hormones and fluids and smells that come along with it.

This now is just…comfortable. More comfortable than she thinks it should be, with these people she barely knows.

 

“You used to love mornings like this,” Deceit murmurs into her ear, fingers trailing carefully over the flesh of her exposed stomach, running carefully over old scars. “It used to be _you_ begging _us_  not to get up for the day, before.”

 

Selene blushes, and blinks, looking back at Dirthamen for affirmation.

 

“It’s true,” he sighs, hand brushing a few errant strands of hair behind her ear. “You used to come up with all sorts of arguments for it. Some were more compelling than others, but all of them were from a place of love,” his mouth curves up into a soft smile. “And you always hated mornings. You asked me to keep the sun from rising for you, once.”

Selene snorts “I was certainly full of myself, it sounds like.”

 

“You did not mean it literally, I do not think. But you so rarely asked for specific things, I gave it to you, all the same.”

“You kept the sun from rising?” She asks incredulously.

“Well, no. That would be my father’s purview. I did enchant the windows in our chamber to remain dark longer, however, and pushed back as many of my appointments as I could to make time for us to enjoy it.”

“That sounds very…romantic.”

“You seemed to appreciate the gesture at the time.”

 

“I…thank you,” Selene smiles “It sounds very sweet. So thank you, in case I didn’t say it back then.”

“You did, but you are welcome all the same.”

 

“I want you to remember,” Deceit sighs, hand finally still on her stomach as they nuzzle their face into her hair and pull her closer. “I want you to remember the good things.”

 

“I don’t think it works that way,” Selene responds.

“It could,” Dirthamen muses “If I could access my magic in full, it would only take a moment, and I could give it back to you. All of it.”

 

Deceits head raises slightly, and though she can’t see it, she imagines by the twisting expression on Dirthamens face there is an argument she can’t comprehend passing between them.

 

“…Most of it,” Dirthamen amends. “Some things are better left forgotten.”

 

Selene is about to argue with him; giving someone back only positive memories seems a bit like tipping the scale in your favor, and sounds like a terrible idea to her, with too many ways it could go poorly. But then Deceits fingers slide to a tense muscle at the base of her back, and she lets out a loud groan in response. She can feel a grin curling over their face as both of their hands begin to work at the knots in her back and shoulders, and there’s not much she can do besides melt into a strangely satisfied puddle between them.

 

It will certainly take some adjusting to, but perhaps this isn’t such a terrible way to start a day, after all.


	15. Chapter 15

Selenes legs are dangling off the edge of the railing as she stares down at the pair of men in the library.

The two are absorbed into some book about the dead; practices and rituals and various half-baked resurrection spells that make her uncomfortable to think about.

The one in the mask looks up at her suddenly, and she nearly falls backwards.

  
  


The red haired human at the desk behind her lets out a quiet giggle, and Selene turns to glare at her.

“Something on your mind, Spymaster?” she shoots.

“Only the way your face blooms like a rose when he looks at you.”

“ _What_? That’s-”

“It is good to see love blossoming, even in the darkness of our current predicament. The two of you keep finding each other it seems. It would make a lovely story; Varric barely has time to put down his pen these days because it is so romantic.”

“You’re mistaken,” Selene argues. “There’s no love there. It’s…” She makes a vague waving gesture with her hand “It’s baggage. Remnants of something that happened that I can’t even recall, and that he seemed to be clinging to.”

“ ‘seemed to be’?”

“I’ve barely even seen him these last few weeks,” Selene mumbles. “He’s been spending all his time with that human, Dorian…look at them; he’s got his arm slung over the lords shoulder! He could have had that arm  _removed_  back when-”

“Hang on; are you  _jealous_?”

 

Selene scoffs.

Leliana waits, the missive she had been writing still in her hand.

 

“I do not get  _jealous_. Especially when there is nothing to be jealous  _of,_ ” Selene asserts.

 

There is another beat of silence, as she wavers. “There is no…no loss, nothing I could be missing if he simply stopped being a part of my life. Nothing would  _change_ , I’m not…we’re barely friends.”

“You share a bed, do you not?”

“That’s a matter of convenience.”

“And was it also convenience that saw you wearing one of his cloaks through the halls to sneak food the other night?” Leliana teases.

Selenes shoulders go stiff and straight. “That-It was cold, and my own was still wet from a wash!”

“That is not what my reports say.”

“Then your reports are  _wrong_.”

 

Leliana turns back to writing her missive.

“It could be worse,” She hums. “Dirthamen could actually take Dorian up on his offer. Then you wouldn’t have a cloak to borrow in the middle of the night.”

The staff in Selenes hand makes a distinct  _crack-_ ing noise that echoes in the space of the building, the wood splintering in her hand.

  
“Tell Deceit to stop stealing from Baron von Pluckys stash while you’re down there!” Leliana calls to Selenes back as she races down the stairs. “We’re close to having an all out war for beads on the rooftops…”

–  
  


It would be rude to snatch Lord Dirthamens arms, if they were still in elvhenan. She could be punished, or exiled, or even killed just for taking such an action.

But they are not  _in_ elvhenan, and Lord Dirthamen has repeatedly told her he does not mind her taking familiar actions with him. She has to remind herself of this when she loops her hand through his elbow and tears him out from where Dorian was leaning over his shoulder to read some piece of the book together.

She gives him a quiet, half-hearted apology as she pulls Dirthamen back through the shelves with her and into an empty aisle.

  
“I think we need to talk,” She breathes, heart beating quickly, too quickly in her chest. Because she is alone with him, and he is her superior, of course.

That is definitely the only reason.

 

Dirthamen inclines his head in a way that lets her know to continue talking and Selene begins speaking without filtering or thinking first.

A trait that has never lead her down particularly positive paths.

“It is none of my business who you choose to have sexual relations with,” she says quickly “But I do not think Dorian is a good choice for you to make. He seems very nice and I know the two of you get along and have a lot in common and perhaps he is even able to make himself seem like a tempting offer, but-but your health! Yes, he works in necromancy, and does not always take care to wash after! Disease is rampant here, and I worry that if perhaps you were to be, er, intimate, it could lead to severe health problems for you, problems I am unfamiliar with and there are no spiritual healers here that might be able to care for you if something were to happen-and therefore you should not engage in sexual activities with him. My lord.”

 

His two visible eyes blink behind his mask.

 

“I am not having sexual relations with Dorian Pavus,” he informs her. “Nor was I planning to.”

“Oh,” Selene breathes, suddenly feeling very foolish. “Well that’s…I heard otherwise.”

“Even if I had been interested, he is sleeping with someone else currently.”

Someone clears their throat loudly from a few aisles away.

“…though I am not supposed to know, or speak about that.”

 

“Also, Dorian Pavus takes better care of his hygiene than anyone else in this whole keep,” Comes the same voice who had cleared their throat. “If anything, he would be stepping  _far_  below his usual standards for a charming elf who won’t even take off his mask to eat. That was a waste of perfectly fine wine, you know! Imported and everything. Do you know how many favors I had to owe Josephine to get it smuggled in here?”

“You are getting off track,” Dirthamen chimes in.

“Right, yes,” Dorian continues, finally stepping into the end of their aisle. “Perhaps you have a reason that  _isn’t_  a false claim to poor hygiene that you wouldn’t want Dirthamen to sleep with someone as wonderfully charismatic as me?”

“I never said I didn’t want him to-”

“Oh  _pish_ ,” Dorian interrupts. “Just tell the poor man you’d like to get back to the dancing and the stories and the grossly intimate cuddling sessions so he can start focusing on the important things again. Like magical theories that  _aren’t_  tangentially related to ‘technically-partially dead’ partners and potential magical fallouts of such things. Or how I’m so dreadfully attractive that the partner who came back from the dead for him might find  _me_  a threat, and how flattering that is.”

“Who died?”

“ _You_  did, of course.”

 

Selene blinks, and feels her stomach drop out from under her.

“I…what?”

 

“We are not actually sure that you died,” Dirthamen tries to assure her, taking a step closer “I have been attempting to decipher the precise details, so that I might better know how to help you. Dorian has been assisting me in my search.”

“I died?” Selene repeats again, still trying to register the possibility.

“That is one possibility, yes,” Dirthamen answers slowly.

 

Selene nods numbly.

“Are there others? Other possibilities?”

“Yes. Though they are less likely. Dorian was not supposed to mention it. We have been trying not to shock you in anyway-”

Selene lets out a snort of a laugh.

“So instead I’ve been wandering around with possibly false memories, because no one wanted to tell me I might have died? Is that really  _better_?”

“I do not know,” Dirthamen admits. “But I have lost you before; over and over I have lost you. Any actions I could take to keep that from occurring again seemed to be the best option.”

“Right,” Selene grits out. “Sure, of course it did. So all this time, I’ve been-you’ve been-it’s not like some passing infatuation? You really….” She lets out a sigh. “ _No more secrets_. I don’t care how uncomfortable it makes people. If it’s about me, I have a right to know. If you really… _feel that way_  about me, you’ll tell me. Alright?”

“I…will attempt to keep to that.”

 

Selene nods, arms crossing stubbornly over her chest as she looks at Dorian, standing awkwardly near them still.

“I’m sorry I said you might not always wash. But I don’t care if it turns out I  _am_  dead, I don’t want you doing any magical experiments on me.”

“Perish the thought,” He assures her, hands raised placatingly.

  
  


Her nails tap against her arm guards,as she contemplates her actions.

“Alright,” She finally decides, arm looping through Dirthamens elbow once again. “We’re going to our bedroom.”

“For what purpose?”

“I haven’t really planned that far ahead,” She admits as she pulls him along behind her. “But I know we need to get there before my nerve runs out and I start to worry you might kill me for touching you again.”

“That worry will pass eventually. You often have that concern, and I have never harmed you for it.”

“Well, as reassuring as that is…If I am going to kiss you, I am going to do it privately, and I am going to need all the nerve I can muster.”

The sound of feathers rustling blooms behind her, and Selene finds herself quickly lifted by Dirthamens arms as he passes them through the nearest window and towards their bedroom.

“We should go quickly, then.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Kiss me,” She murmurs to him.

Her voice is thick with sleep, her slight rasp more pronounced under the weight of her exhaustion as she forces her eyes to stay open, if only to see him for another moment.

Dirthamen acquiesces her, as he always does, always would, lips plush and pliant as they press against hers. He swallows her sigh, twines his legs through hers beneath the thick wool of their blanket, and soaks in the warmth of her to contrast the cold seeping through the stone walls around them. One of her arms wriggles between his bared chest and their bed, as the other wraps around his waist, tugging him closer to her still.

She giggles as she presses her lips to his temple, and he feels it reverberate through his bones in a way that used to make him  _ache_ for her, and reignites his gratitude to have this chance to be here with her once again.

“I just commanded a God to do something, and he did,” Selene muses aloud, voice still drowsy as her eyes close in contentment. She giggles again, her arms tightening around him ever so slightly. “Probably there should be a warning to this…Something about responsibility, and power abuse…ego maybe…”

“I trust you will not use your power to obtain my kisses on demand for evil,” Dirthamen assures her with a small smile of his own.

“I dunno,” She hums, glancing down to make eye contact with him. “I could probably take over the world with a power like that…s'tempting…”

“I would be very interested in hearing how you plan to use our kisses to take over the world.”

“Well, maybe not the world,” Selene admits, scooting down until their eyes are level. “Maybe just shock the Orlesian court a little…”

“Ah,” He allows, nudging her nose gently with his own. It is a very small gesture that never fails to fill him with warmth all the same.

She returns the motion briefly before a yawn overtakes her.

“I’m not really much of a ‘take over the world’ type anyways.”

“No, you are not,” He agrees, because he has already lived a lifetime with her and knows this to be true. It is one of the things he loves about her.

“More of a 'take over the bed’ type,” She mumbles, falling deeper into the thralls of her fatigue as she makes a small, but quickly aborted, attempt to cover him and the length of their bed with her body.

He gives her a reassuring pat on her back for the effort still, as her breaths even out and he is able to readjust her back into her usual space beside him.

No, they are not the type of people who need to be wary of the temptation of power, he thinks. Not while there is so much more satisfaction to be found in one anothers arms, in the warmth of a blanket and the relief of a laugh.

He sees no reason to destroy a world that already has so very much to offer.


End file.
